


The War We Fight Against Ourselves

by Poets_tryna_write



Series: The War We Fight [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memories, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 02:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18459452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poets_tryna_write/pseuds/Poets_tryna_write
Summary: Draco's internal struggle over whether he should live up to familial obligations or follow his heart.





	The War We Fight Against Ourselves

     It was a nightmare right? He had had plenty of those before. Most nights he wakes to sweaty sheets curled around his body like a curse, his heart hammering in his chest trying to escape, and his brain telling him that he is about to die. This felt eerily similar, except he was awake and the nightmare is his reality.

     He sits on the edge of his bed and tries to quell the panic and crushing loneliness he feels. He had woken up because of a recurring dream where he had lost something of great importance and no matter what he did he could not find it. His psyche was reminding him, even in sleep, that once again his life was being ripped apart. He couldn’t blame his unconscious mind now for these lingering feelings because he was awake and the sense of loss and unrestrained panic had not subsided. He looked over at the other side of the bed and in his mind’s eye he could still see the shape of _him_ laying there, strong, solid, and warm. He would not even think his name though, as that would send him crawling back into bed curling in on himself in despair. He looked again and saw that the shapes on the bed had shifted back to the rumpled comforter and pillows that he had thrown around in his fitful sleep. There had been other mornings in that room. Mornings where warm hands had slid up and down his chest as he lay against a solid warm body. Nimble fingers sliding through his hair as he came into wakefulness. Green eyes watching him as his own grey ones focused, blinking in the morning light. Nights when waking from a nightmare he had moved closer to the other just to make sure he was alive and to inhale his scent, which was the only thing that calmed him after those dreams. Nights filled with passion and kisses that left him breathing hard and filled with so much joy. With a sigh that sounded like a whimper, he got up and headed for the bathroom.

     As he stood before the mirror washing his hands he remembered the moments similar to this where strong arms had encircled his waist and a solid jaw had brushed against his ear whispering endearments and words of lust. Now as he looked at his reflection, all he felt was the cold, his eyes were as empty as his heart and his skin had a greyish pallor to it. He tried to convince himself that things would look up after he had his tea, but he knew that was a lie. He dried his hands and stumbled down the hall towards the kitchen.

     As he put the kettle on the stove he looked around the empty room. This room held many memories of his other life. Memories of nights standing at the counter chopping veg for a salad as his partner stirred the pots on the stove. All the while speaking about their days and letting the teasing banter flow between them in a companionable manner. Memories of rushed breakfasts of tea and toast eaten standing over the sink as they flew around gathering their coats and wands. Memories of game nights sitting around the oak table bellowing trash talk that was fueled by liquor and competition. Those nights laughing with friends that had once been enemies. Memories of stolen moments of pleasure as their bodies were crushed together needy and gasping. Even memories of the early days when the middle of the night found them sitting on the floor in silent tears when the nightmares became too much and being awake was preferable. When they understood they had both gone through too much and had been asked to become something that they did not want to be. His chest tightens and his breath becomes ragged as the influx of memories try to bring him to his knees. He is saved by the sharp whistle of the kettle and he pours boiling water over the tea leaves. He walks away from the treacherous room and walks out to the living room to sit in his favourite chair hoping that it will still offer some comfort.

     He sips his scalding tea and thinks about why he is going through this; why he allowed this pain to become a part of his life again. He had thought it was for the best. He really did. He had certain obligations and it was time that he fulfilled those. He had a name to restore, an inheritance to manage and a child to create. He could not do that if he stayed with his partner. He could not become the person that he was supposed to be. He had moments in the past two years where he thought maybe a different path could still achieve the commands that he had been given, but those were just flights of fancy that did not befit his station. He would not fail again. He would not allow his father to look on him in disappointment or disgust anymore. He could not see his mother’s face twist in silent agony and betrayal as he spoke of love and new ways of thinking. He would not do that to them anymore. No matter the personal cost. He would be steadfast and he would be alright. He was familiar with pain. He had withstood the worst pain imaginable time and time again as he lay writhing on a floor silent and accepting of the curses that riddled his body. This pain was the same, it would end eventually and he would pick himself up off the floor, look at the perpetrator right in the face and sneer. Except, the perpetrator was himself. He was doing this to himself. He was making the choice to break his own heart. He was making the choice to throw love away. He was kidding himself when he thought that what this was was just a fling, a dalliance. No, his heart screamed at him, it was real. It was something that would have lasted. Could have become a forever type thing.

     Harry had wanted that, he had told him so moments before he left. He had wanted forever. Had thought that that was what Draco had wanted too. “No”, Harry had said, “No, you don’t mean that”. “No, it is not over”. “No, I won’t leave you”. “No, we are real”. “No, we love each other”. Draco did love him but was that love strong enough? Strong enough to fight for. To fight against the fear and to fight against family.To fight _for_ Harry.

     Harry. Just the thought of his name brought the feeling of a tidal wave breaking over him and sweeping him out to sea. He never thought that he would get to a place where he would feel anything but anger towards that black haired, green eyed, bespectacled man. He had felt other emotions though. He had felt joy and contentment. He had felt safe and scared at the same time. He had felt excited and nervous.He had felt longing and overwhelming need. He had felt it, he had. In his life before Harry he had thought he had experienced feelings. Believing that what he was experiencing were true emotions, but he had been wrong. Harry had shown him that those feelings had only been a shadow, an echo, a facsimile. When Harry was around, emotions sometimes came over him like a trumpet blast, loud and piercing. They also came over him like a summer breeze, soft and welcome. They had been colour and sound mixing together and left him with the knowledge that he had never felt anything like it before. It was like he had woken up out of a half life and realized that with Harry he finally knew what it meant to be fully alive. He had never wanted to leave those feelings behind. He had though. He had left them. He had let them leave. He had pushed him away.

     A sob threatened to escape the prison he had locked all of his emotions and thoughts of Harry in. He was starting to doubt that he could maintain this facade. He was not okay. He was not in control. He did not think that his resolve was as strong as it had been seven days ago. Had it really only been a week? It felt like a lifetime. Had he been wrong? Had he made a mistake? Was he doing this out of duty or fear? His brain said duty, but his heart wasn’t so sure. Actually his heart knew the truth, but when had he ever listened? Never. He was logical and trusted his intellect. His heart just didn’t understand. It didn’t know that he was a Malfoy. He was a Malfoy, and with that name came obligations and a certain lifestyle he had to maintain. Then another voice started to speak in his mind.

     What did that name really mean now? Did it mean the same thing it had before the war, before his Father’s downfall, before everything imploded around them? Did being a Malfoy still incite respect? Did it allow you to move through the streets with your head held high and a look of derision on your face? No, it didn’t. His walks down Diagon showed him that much. The looks he saw on the faces as he walked by weren’t looks of respect for his name, but ones of abhorrence because of the black mark they knew was on his arm and terror because of who it represented. His presence also insighted hatred and violence. He heard the ugliest words shouted at him and they cut through his defenses like daggers and made him violently tremble and want to hide away for forever once he was safely back home. He was the one who constantly felt fear, felt he was one step away from being brought down like Voldemort. He also knew that it was Harry that had made these incidences lessen over the past months. It was Harry who showed the rest of the world that a Malfoy could be redeemed. Could be different than the ancestors that had taught him otherwise.

     He had started to become that, different. His new friends, Harry’s friends, were the evidence. He had been resistant at first of course, but they grew on him. They were relentless because they saw something in him. They saw that he was sharp, and funny, and worth it. He, Draco Malfoy, was worth it. This thought had been so foreign in the beginning. He had worth, he wasn’t just an heir, a minion, a soldier in a war that he didn’t even understand anymore. He was so much more and Harry and his friends had shown him that and told him that over and over. Then why was he reverting back to that old persona when he had shown others and himself that he was capable of being so much more? He shook his head as he came out of his reverie. He was so much more, he was worth so much more than his family had ever told him he could be and there was only one person who deserved this Draco. It wasn’t his father who allowed atrocities to happen. It wasn’t his mother whose silence condemned him. It was Harry who saved them and made them believe in something stronger than blood. Harry deserved this new Draco and yet Draco had thought that he alone had the right to throw away that redeemed person and revert back to his old persona to fulfill some antiquated sense of duty. He realized that he had a choice to make now, but was there even a choice left, now that he wanted it? He wasn’t sure, but there was a way to find out. He summoned all his courage and his phone and pressed the button Harry had showed him. He waited with his heart beating an uneven rhythm and his stomach in his toes.

     Then the voice on the other end spoke his name and he choked out, “I’m so sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first work posted here. Not Beta'd so mistakes are of my own making.


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